Connoisseurs of the Imaginary
by Rattlecat
Summary: One word brings together two strangers. One bus takes them to the house of Imagination.
1. A Connoisseur's Letter

A rather large idea that's been concocted in my mind over time. Don't let this first "Prologue" seem like a large letter to Fans of Foster's. In fact, it's a letter, but from my character in this story. :3 I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Sadly enough, I don't own the beauty of imaginary friends, nor should I ever be bestowed the honor...I pity myself and anyone else who wishes the same ;.;.

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_I tell you, we met here on purpose  
I bet they can't wait  
To wake us up..._

_**Howie Day** - End of Our Days_

_

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_

You would think that after serving more then five hundred imaginary friends for more then 30 years, at least one person would realize the rather sick realism of Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends. In fact, one would think after serving for such a long time, one would realize the sick realism of the human mind. They are not amused for the longest time, nor for the easiest and most common object. The term 'imaginary friend' can be placed into physical objects other then the origin, such as toys, games, and even other people.

Television has become one of the things to replace imaginary friends. Why bother creating your own when you can enjoy characters on a screen, and steal them instead? Why bother creating your own when you can play a video game with machine guns, tearing apart another's creation or the creator themselves? In the end, one realizes the sick realism of it all indeed.

Imaginary friends can no longer be served as humans are. They're considered objects for the short length of time they are with their creator, or their adopter. They're nothing more then creatures to help save the human's life and mental processes, rather then sharing and saving them for each other. The selfish human being then tosses away their friend, a mere toy, back into the toy chest, out into a yard sale, or even worse, just practically in the street, where they become spoiled, ruined, and evaporate into complete nothingless.

In realizing this point, one wonders why Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends exist. While many will fight for the fact that imaginary friends are just as human as we are, and deserve a place to stay, many will fight that it is nothing more then a prison, and a prison of lost memories. I, myself, would give pity had I been a simple jogger on the street, stopping by to gaze at the luxurious Victorian house. I'd give pity to every imaginary friend in there, despite the laughter flying from the open windows, and the daily routine of a certain boy heading to the doors monotonously.

But due to current events, I cannot even think of a reason to give pity to those who do not wish for it. While imaginary friends are adopted or created for whatever purpose, they serve their time and most likely wind up there. Normally, I'd ask the owner why, how, and when they came up with such an outrageous idea. But due to current events, I can't ask these questions normally, for they can never be answered so simply. It takes some sincere experience within the home and lifestyle of Foster's to realize the beauty of it all. While the imaginary friends are simply given and abandoned each and every time, they enjoy every moment of it, relishing in the ability to have that memory.

I only say this because of the fact I have my own imaginary friend, as old as I am. Though now it doesn't seem as uncanny as Madame Foster has her own imaginary friend. In fact, I can no longer find a reason as to why any age shouldn't have an imaginary friend. At any age in any time, humans can find themselves lost and alone, and it is in that time, however small or large it may be, that they find themselves a friend, any friend, even an imaginary friend.

My imaginary friend is no different then me, other then the fact he's rather tall, and male. I'd consider the fur a difference, however due to my occupation, it's no longer such a difference anymore. As stated previously, any age deserves an imaginary friend, and perhaps getting to know him at the time, in my state of anger, depression, rebellion, and doubt, saved me from the habitual knowledge of thinking imaginary friends are stupid.

They are no different from humans. While we think of the future and the past, so do they, but we all live for the current present, with the current problems, with the current situations. I thank whomever created me for giving me the ability to desire my wants, desire my needs, and act upon them with decisive thinking. But in the event that I met my imaginary friend, I acted without thinking.

And in the end, it made me realize that the sick realism of the human mind, and the faults we accidently or purposely made, can be just as life-saving as Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends.

-Teff Riven

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** Upcoming Chapter**: Hurt Once, Used Thrice

_Because of you  
I learned to play on the safe side  
So I don't get hurt  
Because I know that's weakness in your eyes  
I'm forced to fake a smile, a laugh  
Every day of my life... _

_ **Kelly Clarkson**_ - _Because of You_


	2. Chapter 1: Hurt Once, Used Thrice

Wee, finally the second chapter after long, antagonizing days. If the vocabulary seems ready for a three year old, its because I lacked the emotions needed for this section of the story. x Pity me. Critique me. Kill me.

**Goddess of Unfinished Projects**: Glad I was able to do such a thing. :o

**Kristen**: I'm writing! I'm writing ;;

* * *

_Because of you  
I learned to play on the safe side  
So I don't get hurt  
Because I know that's weakness in your eyes  
I'm forced to fake a smile, a laugh  
Every day of my life..._

_**Kelly Clarkson** - Because of You_

_

* * *

"Jodie! I've told you to get in here and get ready for school!" A shrill voice called from inside the colonial-styled house. The morning sky briskly whipped whisps of wind across the porch, causing the fall leaves to brush and scrap across the fine mahogany wood. A small drumming sound steadily echoed around the household, followed by the squeaking of sneakers on pavement. _

_"Mom, I'm already dressed! Give me five more minutes! The score is tied!" A long blond-haired girl called back towards the voice. She held a basketball under her arm, knees covered in slight scraps, following up to her dirt-covered shorts. A jersey hung loosely on her arms and shoulders, and a smug look was placed under her sapphire eyes. Her mother came to the doorway, one arm holding a freshly baked pie, the other holding an outfit for her daughter. If standing side by side, Jodie would of looked like a perfect copy of her mother...perfectly dirty. _

_"Hun, it's already 8:45, you're going to miss the bus if you don't start walking now. You have all afternoon to play basketball with your friend, now get in here and change." _

_"It's alright, Jodie. Go ahead and get to school. I'll help your mom around the house today!" A cheery voice sprouted up behind Jodie. The squeaking of sneakers was heard again, belonging to a rather ridiculously tall imaginary friend. He was bright red, blinding to the eye had the morning sky not been a perfect background to contrast him with. A navy blue number one was on his chest, and his feet sported tall socks and sneakers; the trademarks of a basketball fan's friend. He knelt down, his eyes on stalks above his head, and took the ball from Jodie. She grinned and hugged him tightly, slightly pushing up onto her toes. Even when he knelt down, he was much taller than her by far. Jodie's mother headed back inside the house, placing the pie on the counter, and the outfit over the top of a chair as Jodie and the friend followed. He ducked his head through the doorway, then stood back up, thankful for the cathedral ceiling of the living room and kitchen._

_"Wilt, I'm going to beat you one of these days. I think I imagined you too well." She grinned at him, before taking the outfit and skipping down the hall towards her room. Wilt sat down on the sofa, stretching his legs out across the floor._

_"...Is that supposed to be a bad thing? I'm sorry if it is." He wondered aloud towards her mother. She chuckled, pacing between the oven and the fridge, grasping various ingredients for her cooking._

_"You shouldn't be sorry for something like that, Wilt. It wasn't your decision to be the best basketball player in the world."_

_"I'm not as good as the players on TV that Jodie watches..." Wilt debated, looking at the blank television screen a few inches from his feet. Jodie's mother smiled at him, and turned back, taking a glance inside the oven._

_"If you are good enough for my daughter, you're the best there is." Jodie hurried down the hall, her backpack bouncing from one strap on her shoulder. She quickly ran a brush through her hair before tossing it carelessly onto the counter, hugging her mother._

_"See you two after school!" _

_"Have a good day Jodie!" Her mother called, before heading back to her tasks. Wilt stood up, stretching his legs again before glancing at the mother._

_"Here, let me help you with that..."  
"Oh Wilt, you're too kind. Thank you."_

_The wind was blowing harsher than earlier that morning and a slight tinkling was heard against the rough surface of the roof, the smooth reflections of the windows, and the polished wood of the porch; though none of this was too apparent to Wilt. He was barely coherent, his left leg stretched out across the floor, the right cramped against the arm of the sofa, and the rest of his body sprawled on the flower decorations of the pearl-colored sofa. He slowly opened his eyes, the only light visible was from the small spotlight above the kitchen sink, the windows were dark with the afternoon's dark angry clouds. A soft rumbling of their future fury growled over the household. He looked at the ceiling, stretching up to accomidate the weight of the construction above, before taking a painful turn over onto his side. He pushed his right leg over the arm of the chair, a crack of the bone audible as he strained. He felt crummy, but blamed it on the aftereffects of sleep and the weather. He closed his eyes again, wondering for a brief period of the location of Jodie's mother. After a time, he opened his eyes again to take a gander at the family clock, ticking peacefully above the hallway doorframe. School hours were over, and Jodie was most likely spending time with her friends, or in the athlete committee that gathered three days of the week. Not quite remembering what day it was, Wilt breathed in deeply, exhaling his relaxation as his eyes closed again._

_The rain pattered slightly harder down onto the household, and the rest of the community as the sirens of a distant ambulance reached Wilt. He frowned, mixing emotions in his mind of pity and disgust at what the damage could be of whatever accident had been caused. However, the back of his mind annoyingly tugged at the neurons, forcing thoughts of Jodie being hurt into his mind. He scowled, and made an attempt to shove them out; however the sirens became louder, only feeding the growing panic. _She's alright Wilt, calm down. The accident was probably somewhere down the street, _he thought to himself, shoving the horrid thoughts farther back. _But what if is down the street, maybe I should go help them, _another thought interrupted his previous. After another minute of the war-patched thoughts, the sirens continued becoming louder, and Wilt forced himself into a sitting position. He stood, holding onto the back of the sofa for a moment to gain his composure, as the mother of Jodie hurried in tennis shoes out from the darkness of the hallway. He looked at her as she sped into the kitchen, grabbing a hold of her purse and digging through it, a frantic look of terror on her face._

_"What's wrong Mrs. Calloway?" He asked, concerned. She continued digging through, finding a green book and flipping through it. She slightly flinched however when his voice broke the awkward rustling of her rooting through._

_"There's been an accident at Jodie's school. They're holding off all the buses until the ambulances get out of the way..." The sirens screamed as the sloshing of tires through rain puddles was heard outside the house. A white and red blur was seen as the ambulance squealed by, heading down the road towards the school. Wilt's face turned slightly pale as the lights shone through the windows, until they were no longer seen, but the sirens still screeched. "...I'm going to go to the school to pick up Jodie."_

_"I'll come with you!" Wilt started, taking a step forward. Mrs. Calloway put a hand up to stop him._

_"No Wilt, it's nothing personal, but I want you to stay here in case she gets a ride home or she walks home. I don't want her here by herself. Please understand, it's just mother's worry." Wilt nodded in understanding, heading into the kitchen and putting his hand on her shoulder as she packed her purse with the green book again._

_"Don't worry Mrs. Calloway, I can wait for her on the porch if that's what you want." She smiled up at him as he guided her towards the door._

_"Thank you Wilt, I appreciate it, but you can watch in here from the window if it suits you better. And honestly, you've been here three years, I think you can call me Mom by now." She stepped out the door, Wilt ducking as he followed onto the porch. She quickly headed down the stairs and to the driveway, briskly getting into her car to avoid getting wet. Wilt watched as she started the engine, waving with a smile as she pulled out and targeted the school as her destination. He dropped his hand, concern returning as he gazed down the sidewalk for any sign of a humanly shape running towards the house. When reality convinced him that there was none, he finally pulled his thoughts together and stepped back into the household, shivering slightly from the cold. Surely Jodie would wait for her mother to come pick her up, or get a ride from one of her friends. She wouldn't be out in this weather...Wilt mentally attacked himself for doubting Jodie, his creator and best friend for three years. Trust should of been impossible to avoid by now, as he was sure that was the standard of any imaginary friend who's had such and such a time with their creator. Why was he doubting someone he knew so well?_

_A faint laughter was tingling in his ears as Wilt mentally attacked himself again for even divulging his thoughts of doubt further. He glanced down the hallway, looking for the visible glow of a television screen reflecting off of the walls. When there was none, he lept up, turning towards the window. Two figures jogged up the porch, before the sound of rain came through the door as it opened. Jodie slid in, drenched in the horrid weather, followed by a slightly taller male figure shaking his short wet hair about. Wilt stared at them, before breaking out of his trance._

_" Jodie! Thank goodness you're alright, your mother just went out to the school to find you." He said breathlessly, kneeling down to Jodie's height. She was still chuckling, as was the boy behind her. He had a few bottles, wrapped by soaked bags in his arms. She looked up at Wilt, her smile crooked with her hair washed in front of her eyes._

_" 'Ey Wilt." She slurred. Wilt cringed, however unvisible as her voice reached his ears. It was deeper, and barely surpassed as being coherent. " This is Mitch. Friend from school." She coughed, before heading past him and sloppily pouring herself onto the sofa, the cushions sucking up the water that spilled off of her. Mitch waved half-heartedly, before following and crashing beside her on the sofa. Wilt stood and cocked his head. Something wasn't right._

_"I'm sorry, but you really should go and change your clothes Jodie, you're going to catch a cold." Mitch raised his head as Wilt spoke to her, and looked him up and down, before making a disgusted face. He took a swig of whatever was in the bagged bottle, and turned to Jodie sourly._

_"You 'ave a stupid imaginary friend?" He growled. Jodie shrugged her shoulders carelessly._

_" Not like I do anything with 'im. We can get rid of him if you want..." She smiled coyily, yet drunkly. Wilt stood still, wondering whether a step back or a step forward would be wise, struck frozen by what Jodie was saying. Mitch abruptly rose, dropping the bagged bottle onto the sofa, and headed into the kitchen as a dark liquid leaked from the bottle next to Jodie on the flowers. Wilt's mouth dropped open slightly._

_"...Jodie...what have you been drinking?" He finally decided to step forward, placing a hand on her shoulder as the a drawer slid open, and items were clanged onto the service behind him. She shouted, yanking away from him and glared up at him angrily._

_"Don't touch me." She shot through clenched teeth. Wilt pulled his arm back, before setting his foot down. _

_"Jodie, I'm really sorry, I'm calling your mother. You need some serious help." He turned but stopped, frozen in his tracks as Mitch stood back up, a large butcher's knife twirling in his hand, and other various kitchen utensils skewed about the counter. His eyes widened slightly, a smile being produced across his face widely, creating the eerie sensation that he was equalivent to that of a cheshire cat. Wilt stepped back, glancing towards the phone that was sitting near Mitch on its stand. Mitch followed his eye gaze, and then hurled the butcher's knife towards the phone, knocking it completely off the hook and sending it with a loud bang to the floor. The dial tone slowly droned out of the earpiece, filling the silence with an awkward resolution, like that out of a horror movie. The bang shocked Wilt into his senses, and he turned, but Jodie grabbed his leg and tugged back, causing the imaginary friend to slam into the floor. He huffed as the breath left his body, leaving him slightly dazed, but quickly shook his head and flipped onto his back, trying to pull his leg out of Jodie's grip. Her grin was similar to that of Mitch's._

_"You want to know who needs help? Some _serious_ help?" She slid closer to him, and glared straight into his eyes. "Everyone. But we just don't get what we want, now do we?" Wilt pulled up his arms._

_"I'm sorry Jodie, but you are in need of help, and I'm going to get it!" He shoved her backwards, and scrambled to his feet, ducking through into the dark hallway. Jodie yelped, falling back onto her rump. She shouted out in rage, and sprinted after him. Wilt disappeared into Mrs. Calloway's bedroom, looking around for something, anything that would contact her. Jodie leaped into the room, banging the door against the wall as she charged at Wilt. He briskly manuvered around her, and headed right back out the door and down the hall. He looked back, hoping that Jodie wouldn't hurt herself, but at the same time fearing for himself. As he emerged from the hallway, a heavy pain sliced through his knee and he yelled, falling forward. Mitch held up the bloodied butcher knife, satisfied at the gash he had created in Wilt's leg. Pressing his foot down on the wound, he forced Wilt over onto his back. Wilt whimpered, trying to pull away, but the pain became greater the more pressure Mitch applied. Jodie stepped up behind him, a look of murder on her face. Mitch threw his other foot straight into Wilt's chest, knocking the air out of the friend. He choked, and attempted to shove Mitch off; however, Jodie had already grabbed a hold of his wrists, and was holding them together as Mitch once again relieved Wilt of any breath he had left. Dizzy, Wilt continued to struggle, pushing himself back as much as the pain and his lungs would allow him...until he backed right into a wall. Mitch stepped up to him, grabbing him by the throat and yanking him upwards._

_"You're honestly going to make me believe that you considered this weakling a friend?" Mitch spat at Jodie. Jodie retorted, punching him roughly in the side. Wilt grasped at Mitch's grip, attempting to pry him off desperately before he lost conciousness._

_"He wasn't my damn friend you bastard. He just works 'round the house. Do you honestly think I would even care to stick around him?" She yanked the knife from his free hand, and held it up to Wilt's cheek. Wilt froze, still hanging onto Mitch's wrist, as the blade lightly pressed against his fur. _

_"He's no different then those idiots we burned in the schoolyard." His eyes widened at the shrill cry of an ambulance racked through his brain. Jodie and this Mitch we're on more then those drinks. Something had completely changed Jodie, if not the both of them, for the worse. Were they the cause of the accident? Wilt thought, but it disappeared from his mind as Mitch's grip grew tighter, locking off any air from reaching his lungs. He kicked his foot out, the other in too much pain to even move at this point, but it proved futile as Jodie easily slipped around it. She raked the blade across his face, surprisingly leaving a small cut on both sides of his cheeks. She raised the blade over her shoulder. "But I'm out of gasoline. Any other ideas Mitchy?" She cooed at the boy. Mitch released his grip on Wilt's throat, and Wilt sucked in a bubble of air, slipping down the wall onto the floor, dazed and panting. _

_" Here's one. Wherever it hits...well. It hits obviously." Wilt lifted his head at Mitch's voice, but it was lost as a whistling sound, followed by Wilt's own shriek rocked his eardrums. He jerked his head towards the source of the pain, only to find the large butcher's knife halfway through his arm, pinning it into the wall. Tears began to form in his eyes as he tried to find his voice._

_"St-t-Stop! JODIE!" He cried, and Jodie came forward, yanking the knife back and out of the wall with vigor. He yelped loudly, the pain becoming excruciating in his left arm. He shook his head, trying to stay awake, for that was perhaps his only chance of staying alive. He no longer had any feeling but pain in his left arm, and the sweet welcome bell of darkness was echoing in the back of his mind. He felt Mitch's hand around his throat again, and felt the force of Jodie's foot and the knife again as the air was knocked out of him, and he slipped into the darkness._

Wilt tossed in distress, and opened his eyes, however the darkness still seemed to consume him. He blinked multiple times, and found no trace of pain, but instead, the comforting warmth of a quilt about him, and a slight flicker of light seeping in through the window. Across from him, a nest rustled around as Coco attempted to become satisfied with her position, a slight murmur of 'coco' wafting through the air. Eduardo grunted, lying on his stomach stretched out, and Bloo was underneath of his pillow, thankfully, blocking out the mutters of fame and fortune, and the awful snoring escaping his lips. Wilt sighed heavily, staring at the underside of Bloo's bed. It was once his, but when Bloo and Mac came into the home, he had given up his place so that Bloo had a comfortable first night. Now, two years after putting up with Bloo's selfish personality, he regetably wished he would of known better. He slapped himself mentally for that thought however, as he would do anything for anybody. He had done so ever since he had been created, and even after the 'event'. The dream taunted him, but it was definitely distressing when it came on nights previous to Adopt-A-Thought Saturdays. He had been adopted three times, but always winded up back here. His creator, Jodie, had been a complete unfortuante accident, and the both of them were sorely depressed after the incident. Mrs. Calloway had came home in the middle of it, and was able to somehow save him and bring him here. He was unconcious for three hours, Frankie had said, and he was pretty beat up. When ripping the knife out of the wall, with his arm damaged by it, Jodie had sliced directly through the bone, cutting his left arm off completely. Somewhere, Mitch had taken a rolling pin to his left eye, rendering him blind to a degree. The cuts had been sewn up, and the gash was luckily just a scratch in his knee.

Ever since that time, he had always been asked by any new friends or families what had happened. While Jodie may of been responsible for it, he'd never hold that against her. She was under the influence of cocaine, drinking, and intoxicants. The mass consumption had her in a coma for weeks after the incident, loss in guilt for Wilt and depression for the burning of her schoolmates. Mitch had really been a bystander, not even an acquaintance to her until the influence of drugs.

He let out a breath again, thankful that he was able to continue doing so. Sliding out from under the bed, Wilt silently stepped over to the window, taking one finger and gently pushing it aside to get an idea of what time it was. Wilt yelped unconciously as the bright sun of the morning hit his pupils, and he instantly raised an arm to shield them.

" MORNING!" Frankie exploded through the door, enthuastically brandishing papers and quills of all sorts. "Guess what today isss!" She grinned towards the occupants of the room. Bloo snorted harshly, hating the interruption, but even more hating the soon-to-come. Eduardo abruptly sat up, shrieking in terror at her presence. He shivered underneath the covers, staring at her.

"Is it the day of _muerte_?"  
"...No."  
"Potatos?"  
"No."  
"No more breakfast?"  
"No."  
"Then what is it!" Eduardo shouted, shivering even more horribly. Wilt stepped away from the window.

"It's Adopt-A-Thought Saturday, Eduardo." He said with a smile towards his friend. Eduardo sat up, frozen.  
"Then...Then that means...I'll never see my amigos again!" He cried. Wilt patted his back, consoling the purple giant.  
"It's okay Eduardo! If you do get adopted, we'll still be able to write to you.""Yea, and we'll even send you some potatos...but it's 24.99 for shipping and handling!" Bloo prodded his pillow, a wide grin on his face. "No, make that 34.99. Have to add taxes you know." He crossed his arms nodding in a serious manner. Frankie, Eduardo, and Wilt glared at him. "Whaaat? Okay fine, no tax since you're an imaginary friend." The blue blob started. Frankie rolled her eyes.  
"I'm going to go set up the registration tables."  
"I'll help you out, Frankie." Wilt grinned, following her out the door.  
"Sounds great!"  
"But who's gonna make my breakfast?" Bloo screeched out the doorway. Frankie snorted and turned towards Bloo, glaring.  
"Make it yourself! Pancakes are in the microwave!" She turned and stomped off, Wilt following behind her, his sneakers squeaking along the wood.

"But I want waaaffffleeesss!"

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**Upcoming Chapter: **Threads to Bare Witness

_Swallowed up in the sound of my screaming  
Cannot cease for the fear of silent night  
Oh, how I long for the deep sleep dreaming  
The goddess of imaginary light..._

_**Evanescence **- Imaginary_


	3. Chapter 2: Threads to Bare Witness

Whooo. Okay, that was the only dark chapter in the story. I absolutely hate going off track with characters that are expected to have a so and so personality oo;; This is going to be the last slow chapter, so don't worry It's all goody good and such and the real story past this . .

**Goddess of Unfinished Projects: **oo Wow, that is a coincedence. Wait a sec, you wrote Thread and Needle! I LOVE that story so much! When I began reading it, I almost stopped writing this fic because it made me think I was going WAY too close to yours:O WOW. I luff it so much! You're so my inspiration to keep writing.

**AJ Wonkette:** Thank you for liking the story and agreeing with me :D Awww, I love Mini-Simon!

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_Swallowed up in the sound of my screaming  
Cannot cease for the fear of silent night  
Oh, how I long for the deep sleep dreaming  
The goddess of imaginary light..._

_**Evanescence **- Imaginary_

_

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_

There was a steady pounding outside of the court, one that purged through to her ears as she dribbled the ball about in her paws. The music thudded dully, but extravagantly around her through the loudspeakers, blocking any obnoxious comment the DJ or spokesperson may of contributed to the scene. More feet thudded about the maple boards of their seats. The constant rhythm made her want to travel for once, at least to dull into the rhythm of their clapping, their stomping, their shouts and their taunts. One pass to her fellows gained one pass back, but three feet farther then where she had passed. A repeat, but this time an obstacle faced her, and her neurons fired messages through the axons faster, registering a tactic as she spun, the ball flying from her paws, but still keeping a steady rhythm as it returned to them. She passed again, ridiculing her own mind for pulling off an amateur scenario, but put it off as the ball came back to her, as if magnatized to the very metallic claws that stretched from the glove. She stopped at the line, the line that seperated and cut the court into multi-sections, twisting and curling like a viper throughout the wood. Pressing upwards, the ball balanced into one yellow and orange striped glove, and with a shove of momentum the claws raked across the ends of the ball, sending it sailing.

One second, two second, three second, four second, five. One two three four five, and the ball landed, safely in the spider-drawn net, held on merely by the orange ring that held it wide, ready for arrival. It slid through, flowing like a dolphin in water, before dropping with a thud to the hardwood floor, carrying behind it a shower of confetti, popcorn, peanuts, flags; but most the cheers and boos of allies and foes as they stood, stomping out the final buzzer, marking the end of the game. She sighed heavily, spitting out the breath that seemed to have caught in her throat throughout the whole game. Her team cheered about her, and she kept still, clapping every so often with them, chanting out their words of enthuasism. The throng carried on, impatiently screaming for her and the team, for the other captain and their team, for autographs and basketballs and jerseys and flags. She breathed steadily, the only thing forcing her to do so faster was her beating heart, the adrenaline finally dying down. After clapping again with her team, she turned and headed back towards the locker room, recieving but a glare from the coach on the sidelines, before her tail swished out of sight.

Inside of the locker room, her ears rang with the after-effect of music and fans as she passed by the glass cases, reflecting the past in gold, silver, ribbons and even dirty balls. She stepped up the stairs, and raked her claws across the navy blue lockers, her eyes closed as she past her fellow teammates' belongings, finally coming to a close on hers. It was slightly ajar, her duffle bag peeking out of it, waiting for release. Her ears tilted back as she raised her eyebrow, and whipped the door open with one slash; only to have it whip back and crush the bag with a clang. Behind the locker door, the reason for it's backlash, was a minor heavyset, a whistle about his neck, and a nasty tone about his person. He smugly glared towards her, scratching his back for the passive itch that infected him for the past few hours, the result of poison ivy in his outdoor treks. She was as bored as she was annoyed towards this man, her coach, and tonight was just a reminder of the previous. He was a determined bastard, but nonetheless, it wrecked her nervous system after every game, knowing he was only here to scorn at her 'disability' to work. Basketball had become work to him, and a business in which would bring in much of the green. Both of envy, and of paper. His best employee however, was she, and she was losing her 'touch' of work, according to him.

"You completely missed the pass in the first half. Do you know how much money that small slip up cost me? And what was that travelling on the court when you were faced with Jonas? And Michael? Honestly, you are lucky the damn referee didn't penalize you. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking along the lines of 'I'm human', therefore I make mistakes. You're lucky I didn't fall completely thanks to that fool who claims he can rebound." She tugged her duffle bag from the locker, shoving in her jersey, and freeing her hair from the tight tail created by rubber bands. It was short enough to remain off her neck, but she continued to wrap it back due to the massive amount she almost swallowed during her past games. He narrowed his eyes dangerously at her, a fist clenching at his side.

"You need to quit being a smart ass. It's going to get you hurt one of these days."  
"You need to quit being a jack ass. It's going to get you fired one of these days."  
"Teff, You think I give a damn if I get fired? Of course not, because you wouldn't dare report your dear old coach."  
"The one who for the...15th time I believe, got himself reported in _Sports Illustrated_ for punching Michael in the jaw for properly disposing of Youlen's backshot?"  
"Why the hell are you complaining about that? He shouldn't of fucking threw her forward and taken the ball."

"He could of done it and got a simple penalty. Instead, we got the penalty and you both wound up with broken jaws. Though I wish yours would of shattered." Silence issued, aside from the rustling of her shoes being tossed into her bag, before replacing the comforting fur of the cat boots. He growled, grabbing her chin and yanking it up to him.

"Look, I got you in here, and I can throw you out. I can just as easy start a rumor on you, and I would still be getting my mad cash, and you'd be wearing a mad hat. I don't give a damn what the hell you think anymore; you belong to me, and you will forever belong to me. Next game better be NOTHING like this game." She yanked her head away, tossing her duffel bag onto the bench.

"I shouldn't have to tell you this as much as you tell me to get my tail in gear, but honestly, grow some backbone. One of these days, I'm not going to be here, for whatever reason, who knows. Maybe I'll get in a car accident."

"You don't drive you dipshit."  
"No, but I do walk across the street. But think about what will happen if your perfect little kitty just happens to flutter away."

"You know I can blackmail you. Imagine the hell you'd go through if everyone knew the truth." She glared at him, loathing his very existance. Suddenly, she stepped back, and ran her paws down the front of her, breathing in, then exhaling

"Well, that's all fine and good. But it's useless to blackmail someone who doesn't seem to exist anymore." Clenching his teeth, he raised his fist and swung heavily at her. She swerved on the spot, arching her back and grasping the handle of her duffel bag. As his fist flew by harmlessly, her back was turned, and she was heading out of the locker room.

"If you even _think_ of leaving this town, let alone this building, don't expect me to save your ass when the truth is out!" He screamed.

"And please, don't expect me to save yours when they all wonder _how_ you know!" She crooned heavily, the double doors slamming shut, and she whistled loudly to block his last words. Her padded feet bounced down the stairs, and she stopped, gazing at the trophies. Her eyes shot towards the double doors, but she knew he wouldn't start a commotion, especially when such a crowd was close by. Pushing open the glass doors, she opened her duffel bag and slipped in two of the logo balls from the shelf; then closed it right back up. They were her personal favorites, the colors a contrastive mix of blue and orange, satisfying any pair of eyes for hours. Zipping the duffel bag up, she stepped outside, the cold night air slowly evaporating the rain puddles that had fallen earlier during the game. She gazed up at the building, the lights still on in the court area, the cheers never dying out, other then the few families who were leaving early to catch a plane, eat dinner, or find whatever nourishment they could for the remainder of the night.

Teff tugged off the large yellow ears, the tail, the gloves, and the whiskers that adorned her body, shoving them into the end pockets of her bag. Many wouldn't look at her strange, but look at her in greed. She was known as the Rattlecat in the court, for she simply had a passion for cats and could rattle the court with cheers. It most likely began when she dressed up for a halloween game, but it caused such a delicious riot that many told her to keep the costume parts, and become both the mascot, and the main girl of the Cacophonies. Her other teammates were more then supportive, they were ecstatic. So much that they even started pet naming and petting her. Which was all fine, friends and family were two of the many things Teff adored being around. She sighed heavily, heading down the sidewalk towards nowhere in particular. In the distance, a bunch of kids laughed as they tossed a ball to each other. Looking up, she noticed a few imaginary friends with them, and smirked. She was too old for imaginary friends by now. She felt a light twinge of pity towards the kids, knowing that soon they'd have to live in the world she currently lived in...no longer the fun times for any of them. Teff tore her gaze away from them, continuing on, but stopped, looking back at them. She headed across the street, watching them closer. One of the friends waved to her, and the creator turned.

"Hey there! Want to play catch with us?" He grinned, looking up at her. She smiled and shook her head.

"No thanks dear, you've got your friend to play with," She knelt down to his level. The imaginary friend stopped, bouncing the soccer ball gracefully on his knees.

"The more the merrier, you know?"

"I'm too old for imaginary friends, really. Besides, I wrack my brain with too many things to have the ability to create one." The friend sat down beside her, still slightly towering over her. The boy jumped onto his lap, hugging the ball close.

"How come?"  
"How come what?"  
"How come you're so old?" She burst out laughing at his comment, but settled when he smiled, patiently waiting for an answer.  
"Well, we all grow up. And we just keep getting tons of things on our daily list to fulfill. I personally don't have any time for imaginary friends."

"You could find time!" He tossed the ball back and forth. She looked at him, then up at the friend.

"I would if I could, my friend." The imaginary friend raised his eyebrow, looking her over.

"Well, that's a funny thing to say. How old are you?"  
"Just turned seventeen the other day."

"Well, then that's a funny thing indeed to say!" He cried.

"Er...how exactly?"

"You're only seventeen. You've got lots of time in front of you to fill up. There has to be some place in there for an imaginary friend." Teff stared at him. "I mean, Justin's mother here enjoys having me around to help her out. You're never too old for a friend."

"But an imaginary friend, I am too old for."

"All friends are imaginary really. We all wish to have them, and sometime we have to say goodbye. Is there any real difference?" A female voice called out onto the street, causing them to all jump slightly. Justin leaped off of the friend's lap, and called back.

"Coming Mom!" He turned back. "It was nice talking to you, lady! I hope you come back! I want to see your imaginary friend!" He grinned and tugged at the friend's arm.

"Heh...Maybe, kid." She ruffled his hair, and looked up at the friend. "Thanks." The friend grinned.

"No problem!" Justin scurried off, tugging the friend after them, leaving Teff to stand watching until they disappeared into a lighted doorway, and then the light went out.

"_All friends are imaginary, really."_ Teff absently put a finger into her hair, twirling pieces of it into strands that hung down in front of her face as she began walking towards the bus stop.

_I'm standing on a bridge  
I'm waiting in the dark  
I thought that you'd be here, by now  
There's nothing but the rain  
No footsteps on the ground  
I'm listening but there's no sound_

A slight pattering reached her ears, calmly bringing her to reality as she stopped at the bench. Looking around, rain began to jump impatiently from the clouds onto the ground, covering the once light grey sidewalk with dark blotches of what reminded her of tears. She collapsed onto the bench, hanging onto her duffel bag numbly and digging in it for some change.

_Isn't anyone trying to find me?  
Won't somebody come take me home..._

A huff accompanied the rhythm of rain as a blue tinted bus turned the corner, chugging its way to the stop, its headlights sagging tiredly from it's front, exhausted from the constant travel of the days before it. She pulled herself up to reach the doors, lugging the duffel bag. She felt as exhausted as the bus, being pushed forward only by the past promise of leaving town. She paid the driver, smiling gratefully, before slipping her way back towards the rear end. She had no care to have questions of her appearance or existance at this time, and quiet was all she needed. She slumped into a seat on the right, shoving the bag under it with no passion at all. Clicking out the light above her head, she spread herself across the seat, squirming until she found a comfortable spot with her shoulders being massaged gently by the sill of the window as it vibrated with motion of the bus.

_It's a damn cold night  
Trying to figure out this life  
Won't you take me by the hand  
Take me somewhere new  
I don't know who you are  
But I..._

_I'm with you_

Her eyes were half-lidded as she gazed across at the seat from hers. She had taken no notice before, but now Teff came to realize there was a figure in the seat, the light out like hers, but another light came from two flower-like bulbs placed on both of his shoulders. They were connected to large graceful butterfly-shaped wings, each of which were flattened back against the seat. His face was that of a dog's, his ears paper thin with scrolled designs of blue and black. His fur thicked out at his cheeks, which, if perhaps shown from the front, would of mistaken him as a tiger rather then a dog with butterfly wings. His arms were slightly unproportioned, thin and brittle, ending in large gaping claws that held the somewhat enormous tome to his eyes, which he was concentrating heavily on. She sat up, a slight amount of energy still twinkling somewhere in her head.

_I'm looking for a place  
Searching for a face  
Is anybody here I know?_

"Hey there." She leaned over her seat towards him, glancing at the title, _Farenheit 451_, slightly obscured by his massive claws. His ears pricked up first, before his eyes lifted from the page. They had a sort of sad solemn look to them, as if he would of loved to be anywhere but on the bus, if even in the town.

"...Hey..." His voice was soft, almost a whisper, and he glanced down at the book again. Teff thought the lighted bulbs on his shoulders started to dim, as if to hide him away from her.

"You're an imaginary friend, correct?" She smacked herself mentally for the most dumbest question in that category.

"...Yes."

"Is the driver your creator?" His ears drooped, his head shaking hesitantly. She quickly regretted her comments, and shut up.

"...No. My creator...erm..."  
"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's okay...really. I guess I should of expected it." Teff slid over to his seat, and he silently moved a wing away to fold with the other, the two bulbs still dimly lit.

"Is there a certain place you're going?"

"Well...someone told me about this home for imaginary friends. I was perhaps thinking of going there..." He closed his book with a bookmark, and looked towards her, the bulbs slowly starting to burn brighter. It was now that she noticed his tail. The fur split into three gigantic feathers, each vibrating in their own rainbow of colors.

_Because nothing's going right  
And everything's a mess  
And no one likes to be alone_

"Do you know how to get there? If you'd like, I could go with you." She put a hand on his shoulder. While she wasn't too experienced with imaginary friends, she found this one as sorry as she was. He looked at her, slightly shocked.

"Oh, no no. I really couldn't burden you with that...it's how I lost him..." He set his gaze at the ground. She smiled slightly.  
"It's okay. I'm trying to get out of town myself. I don't mind helping you out. What's your name?"  
"He never really gave me a name...I was sort of a spur of the moment thing..."

"Oh. Well then, do you mind if I name you?" He shook his head, his eyes sparkling slightly with tears. "Are you sure? You can name yourself, you know." He shook his head again.

"It's alright. I don't mind. I don't think I could come up with a name for myself." He looked at his claws, at his tail, then at the glow the bulbs produced. She ran a hand across the wings, feeling the velvet stretch across her fingers. Sliding them up the thin ends towards the bulb, she looked towards his tail.

"You know, I'm a spur of the moment thing myself." She smiled at him. He looked up at her.

"But...you're not an imaginary friend."

"You never know...sometimes we're so depressed we just happen to run into someone...or create them." She continued running her hands over his wings, remembering the previous imaginary friends' words as she became fascinated like a feline with the softness. He watched her, the wings slightly twitching in response to her touches.

_Isn't anyone trying to find me?  
Won't somebody come take me home?_

"Threadbare."  
"Threadbare?"

"Yes. It means tattered, or used. No offense, but you look like you could use some repair." He grinned, his tongue slightly protruding from his jaw.

"You could use some yourself."  
"I should name myself Threadbare. I'm as uncreative as they can come."  
"I think Threadbare's creative."

"Threadbare is a real word though." He tilted his head. She ruffled up the fluffs about his head, the ears flapping back and forth with slight cracks.

"Threadbare?" He asked.

_It's a damn cold night  
Trying to figure out this life  
Won't you take me by the hand  
Take me somewhere new_

"Threadbare." She repeated, with confidence.

"What is your name?"

"Teff. Teff Riven." She replied, pulling her duffel bag over towards the seat. _Their _seat.

"...Riven means broken." He replied, his voice quiet. She pondered, then a smile crawled across her lips.

"I guess it does...I guess it does indeed." Silence followed, except for the quiet hum of the bus, and the steady glow of the bulbs upon his back.

"...Are we friends?" His voice carried over the hum, yet still created an euphony to her ears.

_I don't know who you are  
But I..._

"...Yes. I believe we are."

_I'm with you_

"Friends going to Foster's."

Together.

* * *

**Upcoming Chapter:** Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends

_Trying to be someone that you know your not  
It gets harder everyday  
All the lonely days  
There's no one left to love  
You wish life would go away_

_**Ashlee Simpson - **Harder Everyday_


End file.
